Secretly Married. Allison LeighЧитать онлайн книгу.
no hesitation, Janie pushed open the door. “See? Come on in.” She waited in the darkened entrance.
Delaney stepped inside, vaguely aware of holding her breath. The memory of the tiny apartment Sam had lived in before they’d become involved flashed through her mind. It had possessed only the essentials. A bed. A fridge. A dim, cold bathroom. The place had practically been sterile, giving no hint whatsoever of the man who’d occupied it.
Janie flicked a switch, and light streamed downward from deceptively simple iron wall sconces.
She couldn’t help her inhalation of surprise at her first impression of the interior. “Oh. My.”
“Nice, isn’t it?” Janie seemed to be looking at her with some kind of expectation.
“Yes.” She smiled weakly. It was nice. Natural stone. A bronze wall that dripped with the soothing, unexpected sound of water. Plants. Leather furnishings. Nubby rugs over slate. It was full of thriving plants. Palms in the corners. A fern on a small table. It was modern. It was timeless.
It was…Sam?
She felt like rubbing her eyes. She refrained. Coming here had been a mistake. “I should wait for Sam somewhere else.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re his wife.”
“Was. I was his wife. And as soon as I have a chance to speak with Sam, I’ll be going.”
Janie looked doubtful. “If you say so. Would have been nice to get to know the woman who stole my big brother’s heart, though.”
“When you meet her, give her my regards.” Silence met her response, and she sighed. Janie had done nothing to earn her sarcastic humor. “Sorry.”
“I think this situation is odd for everyone.” Given the circumstances, there was a surprising lack of judgment in Janie’s voice as she headed into the house, flipping on more light switches as she went. When she came to the kitchen, though, she stopped. “You can wait for Sam here. Make yourself at home. I doubt he will be gone for too long.”
If she were strictly honest with herself, Delaney wasn’t sure if that was a comforting thought, or not. “Thanks, Janie.”
The young woman gave a little sketch of a wave then disappeared up the hallway.
A moment later Delaney heard the soft, solid sound of the door closing.
She was alone in Sam’s house.
My wife.
She exhaled shakily, pushing the thought away, and dumped her briefcase on the counter, her gaze skipping around the well-appointed kitchen. The only sound she could hear was water. The soft trickle from the water wall in the living room underscored by a low, constant murmur. It was the same sound of the ocean she’d heard when she and Alonso had been left at the dock by the charter boat.
Sighing again, she stepped out of her high heels, leaving them sitting on the floor next to the granite counter, and unbuttoned her double-breasted jacket, waving it open a few times. Ah. Heaven.
She’d brought a change of clothes in her briefcase—slacks and a tunic—but it was so late there seemed little point in changing into them when they wouldn’t be any cooler than her suit.
Still, she felt better just from the small respite, and she buttoned up again, then moved around the island toward the bank of windows lining the wall. Now, with the light on inside, they were more like mirrors that reflected her bedraggled appearance.
She slowly walked along them until she came to one that was a door. Cleverly designed, it barely differed from the oversize windows. She reached for the handle.
“I wouldn’t go out there without the light. The cliff is closer than you think.”
She snatched back her hand, whirling around. Sam stood next to the counter where she’d left her briefcase. The tails of his dark gray shirt were pulled from the black jeans he wore, and he’d rolled the sleeves farther up his forearms. His jaw was shadowed as it always had been by this time of night. He’d been a two-shave-a-day man.
Definitely thoughts she needed to avoid.
“I didn’t know you were here,” she said, stating the obvious, and felt stupid because of it.
“Passed Janie on my way in. Should have known her soft little heart couldn’t withstand you.”
Meaning she had no soft heart at all? “Your sister’s the one who suggested I come here. Not me. But since you’re back, I’ll just leave this—” in two steps she’d snatched the envelope from the outer pocket of her briefcase and set it on the counter “—here and I’ll go.”
“How do you propose to do that? Whistle for a cab?” He flicked open another button at his neck. Energy seemed to vibrate from him, yet he was uncommonly still.
Even rattlesnakes possessed rattles as a warning device. Not Sam. His strike had always been unexpected. Never physical, but indelibly felt all the same. “Why does it matter to you how I leave? I just wanted to make sure you got the ring back.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that.”
She lifted her gaze, meeting his despite her intention otherwise. “And?”
“And I’m curious what you think you’re doing.”
Count to ten, Laney. Her voice was calm when she finally spoke. “What I’m doing? You’re the one who told all those people that I was your wife.”
“You are.”
“Was, Sam. Was. You’ll surely remember the small matter of our divorce!”
His head cocked a little, his gaze measuring. “Have you taken to drink, Delaney?”
Her fingers curled. Uncurled. “Don’t be obtuse.” Her brother had been the drinker in her family. “And while it pains me no end to have to ask, would you give me a ride back to Castillo House?”
“Why?”
“Because I need a place to sleep! And I’d rather impose on Logan and Annie Drake for a corner on a floor somewhere than spend another minute with you.”
“Go for it. Those fancy shoes lying there are gonna get beat to hell walking all the way, but—”
Her hands curled. “You won’t even give me a ride?”
“Considering how nicely you’ve asked?” He snorted softly and reached out one long arm to hook open a drawer. “Here.” He tossed her the small flashlight he withdrew. “You might need that. No city lights here. Maybe you noticed.”
She caught the flashlight. “You’re impossible.”
“Makes you wonder why in hell we ever got married, doesn’t it?”
She went still, riding the pain of that.
He swore under his breath. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
A lifetime of practice helped her lift her chin, her shoulder. “You’re entitled to say anything you like, Sam. It’s been no concern of mine what you say since we got unmarried.”
The measuring look was back. And it was almost enough to make her uneasy. Almost. She clenched the flashlight and shoved her feet into her pumps, stifling a wince. That’s what she got for indulging her shoe sense rather than her common sense when she’d dressed so very long ago before the flight. Then she snatched up her briefcase and strode past him, right on out the front door. As soon as it closed behind her, the dark night swallowed her whole, and she fumbled with the flashlight. It gave out a weak stream.
She stiffened her shoulders. Trained the wobbling yellow beam in front of her. Headed up the stone walk. By the time she made it to the road that was only marginally smoother than the path, her feet were screaming inside her shoes. She wanted to scream. She was supposed to be an intelligent woman. Why hadn’t she followed her